Derelict
by rikkucheerio
Summary: So, here's another postUntethered fic. There's mention of a relationship and if you squint really hard, click your heels together three times, and make a wish, it could be read as BA. I won't say one way or another.


  
I have these moments where I almost... _almost_ feel like myself again. They're fleeting, flickering moments that only last a few minutes and when they disappear, I'm left with this hollow feeling. In these moments, I feel as if I've been torn open, exposing all my soft, delicate pieces to the outside air. I start to feel each raw nerve ending, each ragged edge to the gaping wound. But then, my defense mechanisms kick in. My psyche seals the wound with a shell, attempting to stem the flow of... of life, but not before I've been emotionally eviscerated. If that wound stays open and exposed for too long, I'll be forced to face all the pain, the anxiety, everything that I've been running from. And I'm not ready to do that. I'm not ready to allow myself to be vulnerable to the point of exsanguination.

But no one understands. They were so quick to... give up on me. I don't... that's not helping me any. Everyone expects me to just fix myself because they said so. I don't expect anyone to understand and I don't expect anyone to care enough to bother with me. Just because I expect it doesn't mean I like it and the fact that I can even recognize that it hurts speaks volumes. Yes, I know I've hurt you, I just don't care. I fail to see how that has any relevance. Do the rest of you expect me to be overly concerned about your wellbeing in the first place? How can you logically and realistically place those expectations on me when I can't even be concerned about my own wellbeing? Maybe this is just more of the "I always make it about me" thing I'm struggling with. No one understands how much of a crisis I'm in. I'm not openly self-destructing, so I mustn't be as bad off as I was when my mom died. 

No, this is worse. And no one understands that.

When those moments of ephemeral humanity vanish, I'm left staring in the mirror at a man I don't recognize. Physically, he looks like death rolled over. Being awake in four day spurts is taking it's toll. He's not eating much, but on the positive side, he isn't drinking much, either. He's just existing, taking up space, and going through the motions. He's been reduced to merely a fraction of the man he used to be. It's in those moments of humanity where I just want to cry. I want to let everything go, but I can't. I can't allow myself to let go. I can't allow myself to burden anyone with this weight. I can't allow myself to give life to what happened. Even just telling the Chief of D's, in the most general sense, was difficult for me. I've retreated to a safe distance, putting a generous amount of air between me and anything remotely personal. But on the other hand, I do recognize him. He's a ghost from the past, from twenty years ago, from the war in the Middle East... he's scared, withdrawn, angry. He's suffering silently.

I'm sorry I can't cope the right way! I'm sorry for being such a failure. I _tried_ do to the right thing. But I didn't know just what I was getting into. I underestimated the severity of what was going on. I asked for everything I got, all in the name of justice. Bring it on. I want _to know_. This is why curiosity killed the cat. I thought whatever they threw at me, I could handle. But no.

And now I'm paying for it with PTSD. I don't have to see Skoda to know that's what's going on with me. I've been here before, but I refuse to do anything about it because even just taking those small steps forward is too much right now. But there's a part of me that wonders if I'm overreacting. Was it really as bad as I think it was? If that's the case, then why am I stuck in reverse? This same part of me wants to just "get over it" like everyone seems to want me to do. This is the part of me that gets squashed when my psyche covers over the hole in my soul with that wall. Because anything that could ooze out of that hole is life-threatening, no matter how potentially cathartic it may be, and therefore needs to be stopped.

My relationships are suffering, taking blow after blow, and I do nothing to stop it. But I don't see that it matters. I don't see it working out between us anyway. It'll never come to that, though, because for some reason, through my own doing or hers, our relationship will end. I feel like I've failed her and continue to fail with every breath I take. Every breath gives me another opportunity to start another fight. One more fight, one more screaming match, one more chance for me unleash venomous words on a woman whose only crime is loving me too much. I can't do it. Through all my apathy, there's a feeling of certain doom, of... an impending end. One I won't be able to keep from happening. I feel like I hardly even know her now. I feel like a stranger, like I'm intruding into her life, into her home. We've been together nine months, but still I feel like I don't know her.

But... how can I know her when I don't... even... know myself? I'm terrified to admit this. _I am not crazy_. I haven't lost myself. I know who I am. But I can't... it's like... I feel like I'm watching from a distance, like this is all a really bad movie. And I really _don't_ know who I am anymore. I'm in and out, catching glimpses of the old me, seeing him again briefly when that wound reopens. And because I'm even wondering this, thinking about which way really is up, does that by itself make me crazy? Is this a permanent change in my way of thinking, brought on by... Tates or is it simply a symptom of some other pathology? 


End file.
